Newt-The Turning Point

Prologue: The Boy with the Knife

Dr. Crawford wanted to leave the body. She really, really did.

They had told her it was going to be simple: Set the explosives in the basement of WICKED headquarters and run. Run like her life depended on it—because it did, and so did the lives of many others.

What they didn't tell her was that there were still people here. The bloodied male sprawled out on the rough concrete before her had one of those bright red uniforms on that she hated so much, but she didn't quite recognize this one; granted, it was a gory sight that she didn't care to dwell on. She didn't particularly know if it still even was a person, or just another body.

She had to make sure, though. She crouched down and tentatively reached out her shaking hand, trying her best to ignore the gross, bloated veins running along his neck and face and the dark blood that was creeping out of his mouth,  cautiously placing two of her fingers against the pressure point on his neck.

Darn it. She jerked away, wiping her hand on the side of her dark pants with a guttural groan. There was a pulse, and it wasn't just a body—not yet, at least. It was slow, but it tended to get that way towards the end, right before the turning point. Whatever the parasitic virus that would take over the body truly was didn't need oxygen to thrive in its host. The Flare seemed to completely defy all known laws of science. In fact, the Cranks themselves easily defied everything humanity itself knew about human biology. That was why, deep down inside, she had eventually come to the condemning conclusion that the Flare was unbeatable. Humanity had been completely and utterly overwhelmed by these creatures that were once human. These Cranks had always seemed to be invincible; that was why they were so deadly. They couldn't seem to just die. That had to be why the body hadn't bled out already with that knife sticking out of his chest.

Regardless, whatever part of him that was still human wasn't going to last forever. He would either fully turn before death, rendering him completely invincible, or his heart would stop, rendering him completely dead. From the pulse, she guessed he had about five minutes before the latter happened.

Dr. Crawford couldn't help but shudder as her eyes drifted back to the blade plunged deep into the Crank's chest. The sight was nothing new to her, but that never made it any easier. Disgusting. That knife absolutely had to go.

She knew she could make it in time, if she ran. Nonetheless, she couldn't restrain her thoughts from dwelling on the uniform plastered against his pale, sweaty, and blood-coated skin. He was one of them. All it did was bring back memories she didn't want to have. He was probably heartless. But maybe he wasn't.

She pulled the pocket watch that was hanging against her chest into her range of sight, the ticking seconds echoing heavily in her brain. Now he had about four minutes and forty-five seconds left.

She knew where the emergency serum was, as they never moved much of anything around there, anyway. The building was still standing tall, and if he died now, she would be at fault. You can't just have the answer and deny someone of life.

Four minutes and thirty-five seconds.

He must've been one of the ones who got it once it was airborne. They had all hidden from the Flare behind these looming walls for so long, and in the end it just condemned the humanity they were trying so hard to protect.

Four minutes and twenty seconds.

She had promised Lawrence she'd make it there on time, set the explosives off right on the clock. She owed it to him.

He was also certainly dead by now, which would mean she wouldn't have him to back her up if she didn't follow orders to a T. Then again, she didn't actually know if he would have backed her up, anyways. Most of the others in their makeshift group of revolutionaries were infected by now, and thus would be impossible to reason with by the next sunset. The rest of the group... they would try to kill her for this, she knew it.

She didn't want to die. Not yet.

But maybe he didn't, either. She had been one of them once, too.

Three minutes and fifty-nine seconds.

What if Janson was still there? He'd kill her for sure, she knew that. His last words to her still echoed mercilessly in her mind to that day: We get to choose who lives and who dies.

Three minutes and fifty-three seconds.

But then again, she thought as she steeled herself for what was to come, there are no easy choices in life.

So Dr. Crawford dropped everything and ran.